In praise of gjetost

I'm convinced that I first tasted gjetost (or geitost, however you care to spell it) when I was really little, either during my parents' urbanite multicultural phase when we lived in Portland, OR and often had things like halvah and Chinese food and curry, or at my grandma's house. In any case, I have no direct memory of having it, but when a few years ago I bought a cube of the stuff on a whim, it was immediately familiar and loved.

It's hard to describe the taste of gjetost. It's sweet and nutty, and almost tastes like salty caramel with a slightly goaty aftertaste. But that sounds truly nasty, and it's not. It's mahvelous, particularly on buttered toast. I could eat that daily, and once in awhile, I do - usually until I can no longer find it in the store. It's apparently not a universally loved thing; at least not enough to justify the often steep cost.

I hadn't thought about it for awhile, but my sister-in-law's family served it (among other lovely cheeses) on Christmas and I *had* to have more (more on that trip when I have pictures figured out).

I spent a good portion of this morning rushing around trying to chase some down. One grocery store didn't carry it, the other was the froufrou local chain that said they usually had it, but their supplier had been out for several weeks and they wouldn't have it for awhile. Ack! I finally found it (at a darned good price) at Fred Meyer. Go figure.

Ah...toast and gjetost. I'm content now.